


Part One: Touch

by Xanateria



Series: The Five Senses [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: AU, Empathy, M/M, metaphysical elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanateria/pseuds/Xanateria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s not something I like to think about. Ditto with talking about it. As a child, I remember my parents commented about how tactile I was. Gradually, I figured out that my need for touch went beyond what was considered normal, even among circus people."  </p><p>Sometimes you have no choice but to admit your greatest weakness. But, if you're lucky, when you deal with it, you get what you really wanted in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part One: Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I am most familiar with the Batman: The Animated Series Universe, but really, the specific universe isn't relevant in this part of the story, especially since this entire series will be AU, for reasons that will become obvious. Also, thanks to ShazzyZhang for the last minute beta read.
> 
> Obviously, the characters are not mine, though I do enjoy playing with them. However, the Iyndari and all the related concepts, are my own creation.

It’s not something I like to think about. Ditto with talking about it. As a child, I remember my parents commented about how tactile I was. Gradually, I figured out that my need for touch went way past what was considered normal, even for circus people. Oh they tried not to show it, but even so young, I could tell. 

I couldn’t explain why it never felt like I could get enough contact with those around me, especially those I cared about. I only knew that when it had been too long, I craved the contact; it got harder to think, to eat or sleep and the pain was a dull but constant ache.

My parents didn’t know how strong it was, how deep the need went. Something inside me wouldn’t let me tell them. It wasn’t a problem any of the others we traveled with had, and neither of my parents kept in touch with their biological family, so I couldn’t exactly ask if it ran in the family.

For a while, after they died, it was easier to ignore, only one small drop in a ocean of loss and grief. And my mind screamed at me to withdraw, protect myself, so it was easier to keep a careful distance between me and the rest of the world. Bruce made it easier in some ways, since he was not particularly physical except during training.

But, life went on, and the rawest edges of the grief blunted enough that I could think beyond the next exercise or patrol, and I felt the familiar pull, so strong at times it stole my breath. I worked around it, as best I could: learned the hard way not to let it distract me after a would be kidnapper got closer than he should have with a knife and Bruce had to put six neatly spaced stitches in my arm at the end of the night.

When Bruce asked what happened, I opened my mouth to tell the truth, then shut it. I’d let the need go too long, the waves of pained dizziness made that clear. Simple need became a wave of hunger that left me pale and shaky. But this hunger couldn’t be fixed with anything as simple as food and there was no easy explanation. Hells if I didn’t live it, I’m not sure I’d believe it. 

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been called a freak in my life. These days, that sort of thing didn’t usually bother me. I’m different than most kids my age, and I like it that way. But this was different. This felt like something really was wrong with me, like proof the insults were true. 

I couldn’t bring myself to risk the truth, couldn’t face the possibility I would see disdain and revulsion, or worse-pity, on his face.

The explanation I came up with was weak but it was the best I could come up with when my mind was a tangle of guilt and confusion. I had to remember to limp for the rest of the night, since I told Batman I’d misjudged the landing of a leap and jarred my ankle. I got a lecture about focus and attention. For once, I kept my mouth shut about it, and gratefully escaped to my room when I finished my post-patrol report.

After that, I made a more concerted effort to deal with it, to learn what worked and what didn’t. I mean, trial and error only get a guy so far, but I figured out that only physical contact helped, just talking to someone didn’t cut it. Skin to skin contact was best, helped keep the need at bay for longer especially if it was with someone I genuinely cared about. 

That part was easier said than done. Trust me, the superhero life is hell on friendships. The hugs from various classmates, back slaps when our teams won only scratched the surface. 

I caught myself right before I asked for more contact from Bruce, or even Alfred. It wasn’t fair to ask them to step outside of their comfort zone, just because I couldn’t control myself. Besides, Bruce had very good reason for his walls and Alfred actually was tactile in his own reserved British way.

The constant struggle not to be too needy, stay within the boundaries of what was socially acceptable took its toll. My mood suffered, until the day I overheard Alfred query Bruce about the possibility of depression. Then, I forced myself to hide any signs of how hard it was.

Shortly after that conversation, not long after my thirteenth birthday, Bruce escalated my training regimen and allowed me more latitude, and more of the workload when we patrolled at night. The increased adrenaline helped keep things more bearable. And increased training sessions meant more bruises, strains and sprains, but they also meant Bruce touched me more. 

A hand on me to correct my form, his body braced against mine during weapons practice, beneath my feet to boost me up, or launch me over the latest addition to the obstacle course. The contact with Bruce helped keep the pull quiet for longer. But, that made sense, since I spend more time with him than anyone else, and despite how closed off he can be, there’s no one I trusted more. 

At first, I thought puberty would make a difficult situation worse. Add hormones to the mix and I worried the pull would overwhelm me entirely. But, a certain amount of contact was expected after you discovered girls. Actually, I figured out fairly quickly that my interest didn’t gravitate exclusively to girls, but I didn’t mention that whenever the subject of who liked who came up. My life was already complicated enough, thanks.

Bruce was quite matter of fact when he explained the relevant information about sex. He made it clear he would never judge my preferences, and I couldn’t even be surprised that he seemed to know I wasn’t strictly straight. 

Almost as an afterthought, he added that I shouldn’t try to use him as a model for relationships, like I hadn’t already figured that out. It made me smile, even as I shook my head. I have no use for the playboy lifestyle, even as a pretense. Never mind foolish and wasteful, I’d be bored senseless in a week. 

I found time to date, but as it turned out, I didn’t need a relationship role model because I didn’t have time for relationships. The hours I put into school, added to my nocturnal activities didn’t leave a great deal of time for anything else. So, I kept things casual, and ignored the dissatisfaction that lingered in the back of my mind if I let myself think about it.

Right about then, I had to admit it was a good thing I had so much practice at repression. I can’t pinpoint when my feelings for Bruce changed from friendship and admiration, to something deeper, that threaded longing through my dreams. When I was awake, I didn’t let myself go there, but asleep, my guard was down whether I liked it or not. 

It didn’t help that Bruce was so damnably good looking. After patrol, when we climbed out of the shower and I’d have to fight against the urge to trace the path of a drop of water down his neck. Or, we’d be headed out to some benefit or charity gala and my fingers would itch to slide under his jacket, and undo the perfectly pressed dress shirt, and map the musculature beneath, preferably with my mouth. I wanted him, in every possible way, though I tried to tell myself it was just a physical thing, simple lust, or whatever.

I lectured myself a lot. It was beyond inappropriate to have such feelings for a man who saw himself as my paternal figure. But no matter how often I tried to tell myself Bruce didn’t see me that way, could never see me that way, my brain didn’t listen and my body didn’t care. And there was no way to deny that whatever caused the pull, the smallest touch from Bruce and it mellowed into something warm and content. But, it could never happen. For the sake of my sanity, I had to be realistic, or the feelings would only deepen. 

Besides, it hurt too much to face that realization every day, so I locked that part of me away as best as I could. I reminded myself that it was okay that I loved the man who had done so much for me. But, if I allowed myself to fall in love with him, I risked losing not only his friendship, but my place as Batman’s sidekick, and with a little luck, his eventual partner. 

With everything I had going on, I think I should be forgiven for how long it took me to realize that Barbara wanted a more intimate relationship with me. At first I thought that was the answer to everything. I cared about her a lot, which wasn’t a surprise, given what we had in common. 

But, when we decided to date, the connection between us wasn’t what we expected. Maybe we were too good of friends. I trusted her to tell me what I needed to hear, like it or not. And she did. But, at least half the time, she pointed out my flaws. She meant it in the nicest possible way, but her assumption she knew best got old, fast. 

I still almost let it happen. So sue me. She’s beautiful and I trusted her, thought maybe I could explain my need for contact, at least a little. But, there was another problem. Being together, even if it was just to kiss and touch, felt too much like incest to be comfortable. And, touching her didn’t feel like I thought it would. 

Oh, don’t get me wrong, certain portions of my anatomy liked it just fine, but the hunger only eased, it didn’t mellow. And she never did anything I didn’t like, but things always felt slightly off, like I had to try too hard to know what she wanted. No matter how into it I was physically, I couldn’t let my guard down and just be myself.

The day I decided we were better as friends was the day I noticed she watched Bruce at least as often as she watched me. I understood the impulse, but had no desire to be a second choice. I’ve lived in Batman’s shadow long enough that my ego can take a lot but I drew the line at that. It took a while, but we got things back to normal between the two of us, though if I had it to do over again, I’d have maneuvered until she thought us just friends was her idea. 

I heard the stories of the awkwardness that plagued many kids my age, but I got more comfortable in my skin as time went on. Sadly, that comfort didn’t translate into other areas. By the time I was fifteen, things between Bruce and I were almost always tense, occasionally downright confrontational. There was plenty of psychology that explained such things were the natural result of an ongoing struggle for independence. Whatever the cause, it still sucked. The distance between us got bigger and wider, but I had no idea how to change it. 

Before we’d been partners as Batman and Robin, I thought we were friends. But, he got more and more withdrawn, and I missed him, missed the times we just sat around and talked, or tackled some repair project together. These days, the only time it felt like things were even close to normal was when we were out at night. In the soft pink hours of the early morning, I tried to convince myself that the strain in our relationship didn’t mean I would make a mistake that could get me – or worse Batman- killed. And I steadfastly ignored the small part of me that wasn’t so sure about that.

Besides, I had another just as pressing problem. When Bruce withdrew, he stopped allowing almost all physical contact. I did my best to make up for it elsewhere, but really only managed to tread water against the hunger most of the time. I had no way to know if the fact I was perpetually braced for an argument made it stronger, or if it was just something that was supposed to get stronger as I got older. I gave serious thought to some kind of professional help. I’d have gotten it too, if I had the first clue where to look. But it’s not like my kind of problem was something you could fix with a fast ‘Net search. Believe me, I’ve tried.

Help came when I least expected it. Near the end of patrol one night, I dove to catch a toddler whose father accidentally shoved her off the edge of a roof. I caught her, but misjudged her momentum and weight after dad was kind enough to lodge a boot in my ribs just as I jumped. 

I didn’t hear my bones break when I landed and the little one didn’t have a scratch on her, so it counted as a win. My ribs, back and left arm disagreed. Try as I might, I couldn’t help the pained moan as Batman landed lightly beside me. 

He’s not one to show what he feels, pretty much ever, but the set of his jaw, the way he held himself, he looked almost concerned. He reached out to check my injuries, and pain flared brightly along my ribs, even though he kept his touch light.

When Batman reached to cup a hand along the curve of my jaw, and flashed the penlight in my eyes, it was all I could do not to purr. I retained enough of my self control and sense of self-preservation not to lean into his touch but it was a near thing. The paid faded from my awareness because for the first time in days, the ache of want faded to tolerable.

When we were safely back in the ‘Cave, and Bruce patched me up, I didn’t let myself worry so much about proper behaviour or Bruce’s comfort zone. I needed this, and if he questioned why I soaked up all the touches like a tree would rain, I could blame my injuries. It bought me almost a week’s respite from the pull and made the spectacular bruises worth it, in my book. I had better sense than to court injury. I spent enough time in our infirmary as it was. Besides, there was no way Bruce could miss something like that, and the explanations would be unpleasant for us both.

Still, between those nights I ended up patched up, the time I spent with Barbara, even as friends, and the few casual bed partners I managed not to cancel on, I controlled things well enough. Oh, sometimes it was worse than others, but I could usually attribute any oddness to late nights chased by early mornings. I felt like I had things handled. I should have known my own arrogance would bite me in the ass.

The realization I’d been kidnapped – again, started out as an irritation. Criminals in Gotham just never learned. While Riddler ranted about his astounding intellect and the plan he’d crafted, I managed to surreptitiously activate the homing beacons built into my belt and earring. Then, I tried to feign interest, while I did my best to catalogue any useful information about where the hell I was this time. 

As usual, I wanted to rescue myself before Batman arrived on scene. It might make Batman realize that at seventeen, I had actually grown up enough for him to treat me like an adult, if not an equal. Let’s face it, few - if anyone- could ever equal him, no matter which persona we were talking about. 

Besides, I needed to focus on something other than temper or pain. The thugs who grabbed me indulged themselves a bit once they had me in their vehicle. Bunch of big men who waited until after they tied me up, and had knives and guns trained on me. Pretty sure they hadn’t broken anything, but they’d kicked and punched me long enough to make me come way too close to passed out.

That might be why it took me a few extra seconds before I noticed Riddler’s current right hand man had entered the room. He whispered something urgent, then turned to leave. Once Riddler’s attention was no longer on him, the man whipped back around and injected his boss’ arm with a wicked looking syringe. 

The worry slammed into me right about the time the unknown man ignored Riddler’s prone body and gestured four other men over to drag me into next room. There was no furniture, and it was definitely colder than the main area. A single bare light bulb dangled down to illuminate a thin mattress, and blanket infested with gods only knew what, a toilet and rickety sink behind a screen in the corner. In other circumstances I might have been amused at the idea of criminals with modesty, but the single minded focus of my opponent didn’t bode well for me. Neither did the fact he didn’t try to gloat.

Even worse, the way he looked at me made my skin crawl. When he moved closer to me, I had to force myself not to react. I wanted to be underestimated. That tended not to happen if you doled out broken bones while tied up. 

After a moment, he reached out and unhooked my belt, and removed my watch. The belt he held, the watch he crushed under his heel. Then, he gestured his underlings out, and I went cold all over. I really didn’t want to be alone in a room with this man. The bleakness in his eyes made me ache for a weapon, any weapon. This was a guy who’d cheerfully waved goodbye to his conscience a long time ago.

“I will have to discipline the men for beating you before they brought you to me. I dislike it when my playmates are damaged. Such a pity I have business to take care of before you and I can...enjoy each other,” he commented. 

I could see anticipation in his eyes, but his tone was almost blank

“Yeah, I’m all broken up about that.” I’m not great at the whole strategic silence thing.

That made him reach out and grab me by my hair. He used it to wrench me close enough that I could feel his breath against my lips. When he kissed me, I bit his tongue before I thought about it. 

Without any change of expression he backhanded me, hard enough that my head bounced against the concrete floor. I landed awkwardly, but managed to glare up at him. As soon as he touched me, my stomach lurched and a dull pain pounded at the back of my left eye, but I kept any reaction locked away. As a rule, it’s a bad idea to let amoral, possibly sociopathic people know you’re touch reactive. 

I’d have plenty of time later to analyze what this new manifestation meant. I’d always reacted positively to whatever touch I’d allowed myself. Then again, I don’t exactly make a habit of getting cozy with sleazebags.

After a slight pause, my admirer turned and left, though I saw his hands ball into fists at his side for a moment. Then he closed the door gently. I heard several locks slide home, then the slap of feet against concrete, but then the sounds of activity ceased. Things went from bad to worse when there were a series of percussive blasts that shook my room, and they weren’t followed by Batman’s timely arrival.

The one small piece of good news was that he took the belt and the watch, but he hadn’t ordered me stripped, or done it himself, so I could hope the beacons would still do their thing. Even better, with a bit of work, I triggered the short, but razor sharp, blade in my boot. Once it was out, the ties that bound my hands and feet came off easily.

Out of habit, I made several circuits of the room, though I could see there was no exit, and doubted there were any secret compartments or false walls to help me get out of my makeshift prison. After the fourth lap, I checked the sink and toilet to verify they worked. The faucet only managed a rather pathetic trickle, but I wasn’t here to critique their plumbing. I could survive for several weeks without food, if I had to, but only days without water. 

With a small sigh, I settled down cross legged in the corner. There was no way to know when, or if, my kidnapper would come back. Might as well conserve my resources, even if the explosions made me think his luck had changed recently. For a little while, I strained my ears, but I could hear nothing except a faint buzz from the light bulb.

All in all, it could have been worse. I had toilet facilities, such as they were, and access to water. Maybe I’d get lucky and they’d throw food at me occasionally. Deliberately, I didn’t let myself dwell on the fact that it had been several days since I’d properly dealt with my other hunger.

Bruce and I had fought over the whole college thing, again. I’d managed to finish high school in just over three years instead of four, but balked and didn’t apply to Gotham University. Between his icy silence and Alfred’s disappointment that I didn’t want to do something with my obvious intellect, I’d really not been in the mood to be around people. 

They’d snatched me on my way to school. Monday meant basketball practice, which would have been enough to tide me over for a day or two. As a rule, kidnappers are woefully inconsiderate about schedules though. And, all things considered, I’d rather let the pull get so strong it drove me to a migraine, and clawed at me with the pain that bled me where no one could see, than let whoever the hell I’d dealt with earlier touch me again.

It's sad, but I have to admit, I tend to get kidnapped fairly regularly, but I’d never gone into one already feeling the familiar burn of a contact craving. There was no average time it took Batman to find me: it could be hours, or it could be a day or two. It all depended how far they travelled with me, how well they managed to hide me, and how good their security was. When my internal clock told me sunset and come and gone, I chanced some light meditation to help me push the need back down to tolerable. 

By what I estimated was the next afternoon, I had no choice but to try and rest. It wasn’t restful sleep, and my dreams were disjointed and violent. I woke more tired than when I laid down, and resisted the urge to hit the wall. After I stretched, and got a drink, I moved to the centre of the room to do a kata. Maybe if I worked on my forms, I could relax enough to rest. That’s when I noticed my hands trembled, and though I hadn’t really exerted myself, I started to sweat.

Not good. Both were signs that the pull was stronger than even I’d suspected. I switched to what cardio and strength exercises I could manage. Sometimes, if I pushed myself physically, I could bury it for a while. 

In the middle of a set of sit-ups, a vise clamped on my temples. The pressure felt like someone crushed my head and I nearly fell to the floor. Then, hours of training kicked in and I caught myself against the wall and focused on my breathing. I’d dealt with the withdrawal headaches before, so I knew enough to curl up on the mattress before the worst of the nausea showed up to the party.

For the first time in years, I wondered if this thing, the need that thought it ran my life, could actually cause enough physical problems to be fatal. Almost before I finished the thought, I pushed it away. No way. It would not win. I would hold on until Batman found me, no matter how bad it got.

Unfortunately, the Fates took that as a challenge. My skin was soon fever hot, and the headache reached epic proportions. I managed not to vomit, but only due to the fact I hadn’t eaten in hours and was too exhausted to move. The pull came and went underneath it all in waves that made time pass strangely, and blurred my vision, though I stayed awake, which I didn’t necessarily appreciate.

I thought it was close to a day and a half later when I heard a distant hum that sounded mechanical. I counted my own heartbeats for awhile, and then the top lock on the door rattled.

“Robin, stand away from the door.” 

The familiar tone of command made me smile. Then the door burst inward, and Batman rushed into the room. 

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” Batman replied. He’d already looked me over for injuries, and I knew I must look like hell, because his usual hands on assessment was fast and light.

Even gloved, his hands on my skin chased the worst of the hunger back enough I could approximate okay. It was a stretch, but my natural stubbornness helped. “Glad you could make it,” I told him. Grateful as I was, humour came easier. Part of me wanted to know what caused the explosions, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

I shifted to get up, but failed to account for two days in a cold room, with only water and want for company. My vision greyed out, even as my legs buckled. 

Before I could fall, Batman gripped my waist, and urged my arm over his shoulders. I registered the smooth glide of his cape against my hand before I realized we were moving forward. Progress was slow. I couldn’t get my limbs to obey me. When we folded me into the passenger seat, I felt his hand stroke my hair back, in what could have been silent apology. Pain makes for wishful thinking, apparently.

It got harder to pay attention once we pulled into the cave and I knew I was safe. Batman climbed out and vanished for a moment. Then, my door opened, and he was there, gauntlets and cowl off so I could see lines of tension around his eyes.

He helped me to a bed then, in the infirmary section, slow and careful. Still, the pain made me hiss, and I felt his hand against my unmarked arm. I didn’t notice I’d leaned into the touch until I felt the weight of his look press into my skin. Typical. My control was shot to hell right when I needed it most.

Eyes closed against the brighter lights, I forced myself to break contact, even when my whole body made it vividly clear that was the wrong idea entirely. 

“I want to help you, Dick. But you have to tell me what happened. Did they give you drugs?” Even before he finished the sentence, Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, the warm pressure of his leg snug against me.

Even through my suit, the closeness took the worst of the edge off, the sharp claws of the hunger eased a little and I managed to shake my head no. So stupid to have let it come to this, to the point that it stole my ability to think, made me tremble and shake. No wonder that’s what Bruce thought. If only it were that simple.

The old shame came back, and I fought the urge to hide. Not like there was anywhere to go. Even worse, the want had only lulled for a few moments.

“No, they didn’t. Not unless they gave me something when I was originally knocked out. Didn’t need to, really. And I didn’t see them again after they first talked to me, and I’m pretty sure it’s been long enough we don’t need to worry about that.”

Relief flashed in Bruce’s eyes, and he stepped away for a moment. I managed not to moan in protest. Lucky for me, he sat back down just as close, this time with a syringe of clear fluid in hand.

“Something for the pain,” he murmured. “I’ll need to examine you properly.”

I nodded before I thought it through. The brief burn of the needle faded as I realized that painkillers would only make it harder to hold back the want. In the past, even brief touches from Bruce were enough to leave it quiet in my mind, but right now, it wanted more. It was all I could do not to crawl into his lap. The warmth of his body, the skin I could see, all called to me in a way I couldn’t even come close to blocking out.

“It’s alright,” Bruce shifted closer and murmured, his voice low and close to my ear so I felt it as much as heard it. “Let the painkillers kick in, so you can rest. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” I managed to choke out. It was one of the few constants of my life. Bruce would never intentionally hurt me, would always do his best to protect me, even from myself, whether I wanted him to, or not.

“You’ve been through a lot. But you’ll be fine,” Bruce told me. 

The first rush of whatever narcotic he gave me made my head go light, and I laughed but it was bitter. “It wasn’t that bad, actually, as far as kidnappings go. It’s my own fault I’m in such bad shape.” 

“You protected the kids who were there. You couldn’t do that and prevent being gassed,” Bruce countered, as he moved to take off my shirt so he could better assess the extent my injuries. With the ease of long practice, he stripped me down to my underwear, sponged me clean, and then dried me off.

The pain ebbed away steadily, and I wanted to hold on to it, so I could pretend his hands on my skin didn’t leave me all but melted into the bed. I tried to focus on my heartbeat, the feel of the sheet against my skin, the slight chill of the air, anything else, really. 

It didn’t work, but Bruce was distracted by his concern for me.

“I’m going to go ask Alfred to help me get you upstairs. I’ll be right back,” he explained before he stood up.

Determined to at least act normal, I tried to let him go. I really did. But as soon as he moved, fire lanced through my temples, and I felt the room take one long spin as I rode the wave of hunger that crested. I clenched my teeth before the whimper escaped, but Bruce stopped, and turned back to me, the question clear on his face.

“I’m not sure I can be alone,” I whispered. Part of me wanted to beg him to sit back down, but I still had some sense of self preservation. Besides, telling someone like Bruce I didn’t want to be alone embarrassed me enough.

In the next moment Bruce reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder, warm and heavy. Nothing he hadn’t done before, more times than I could count, but in this moment, it snapped the last of my control. I made a sound that couldn’t decide if it was a gasp or a moan. Tears prickled at the corner of my eyes; I let them shut, and tried to remember to breathe.

I tried to tell myself I was stronger than this. There’s no room in this life for weakness, but I was just so tired. The weight of Bruce’s hand against my bare skin tantalized me with the promise that more contact would make it all better.

I felt my whole body shudder, and opened my eyes as Bruce slid gracefully back into his spot on the bed. “Take it easy.”

I expected a demand for answers, but for once, concern came before curiosity. “Whatever you need,” he assured me. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t. I can’t-“ I stopped, unable to form the words I could hear in my mind. These needs, this want, it had been my secret for so long, it felt strange and raw to let anyone see it. As happy as I was Bruce was here, that he wanted to help, another part of me demanded I stop things before it went too far. 

I already wanted more than Bruce would ever be able to give me. It made no sense to add fuel to that fire, no matter how wrecked I felt right now. I had no energy to spare for my usual walls; if Bruce rejected me now, something in me would break. And besides, I couldn’t even make it make sense to myself. How could I explain it to him?

Every movement dragged like I was underwater, but I pushed myself up, and reached out to lay my hand on his arm. As soon as we touched, my body knew better than I did. I stroked my hand across the soft skin of his wrist and forearm, then traced a slow figure eight.

Some of my dread eased, and it wasn’t as awkward as it should have been.

Bruce stayed still for a long moment, then he shifted so he could take my hand, held it tight.

One breath, then another, and the pressure inside me vibrated like it wanted to ease. Maybe it would be okay. I mean, this wasn’t so strange, the need to be close, connect, not after you’ve been kidnapped.

I tried to suck in my next breath, and a band tightened around my chest, and I shook even harder. The part of my mind where the hunger lived screamed for more contact, skin against skin, right now. I reached out with my other hand, about to pull him closer, then stopped. “Look, this is gonna sound strange, but I need you to hang on to me, for a little while.”

“It's not really a big deal but if I go too long without at least a little bit of...contact, I feel a little off.” Understatement seemed safer, so I downplayed. “If it goes on longer, the need gets stronger, more uncomfortable. And, apparently, if it goes on for too long after that, it gets really unpleasant,” 

I chose my words carefully but this was one of those times I’m pretty sure Bruce got more out of what I didn’t say than what I managed to get out of my mouth.

There was a pause, and then Bruce nodded slightly. “Alright.” 

Before I really had time to process how calm he still sounded, he shifted for a moment, released the fastenings on his suit so it hung half off, then moved back down. Only this time, he settled behind me, and urged me to move forward so that his chest was my pillow. 

After a few seconds to adjust, while I fought my embarrassment, the worst of the remaining withdrawal symptoms swirled together in a tangle, then began to fade. I exhaled with relief, and managed not to moan. “I wasn’t drugged,” I reiterated.

“It’s just...” I trailed off because I wasn't sure it would come out right if I told him I was hungry. “It's just a lot, right now.” 

The ultimate in understatement, but it was true, at least. The whole thing would be easier if I stayed as close to the truth as possible. I reminded myself he knew just about everything else about me, that one more thing wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“I see.” Bruce’s voice was still quiet and thoughtful, likely because part of his attention was still focused on the problem.

“If it’s better when it’s skin to skin, how long does the contact need to last, to be the most help?”

Of course, he’d figured that out. You try keeping something from the man they call the world’s greatest detective sometime, see how well you do.

I dragged a hand across my face, and ignored the fact I could feel the rumble of his voice against the skin of my back. “It varies, depending on how long it’s been since the last time, how stressed I am, that sort of thing.”

Everything went a little hazy then, a combination of relief and painkillers. I’d been wound so tightly for so long, my mind hadn’t really had a chance to catch up to my body. Wild horses couldn’t have moved me, but everything felt so out of control that fear snaked in underneath the pleasure.

“Relax,” Bruce told me a second before his arms went around me. 

Years of training predisposed me to obey, even while the questions I knew would come later chased themselves around my head. I focused on one muscle group at a time and relaxed as much as I could. I spared a moment to thank whatever deities listened that I was too sore, and medicated for my body to react to the arousal I always felt when I was this close to him. Gradually, my breathing evened out, and most of the tension drained away. 

He didn’t say anything, but I sensed Bruce’s approval in the set of his body against mine. Part of me wanted to continue my explanations, but as I relaxed, I realized just how exhausted I was. 

A bit later, Bruce shifted, and moved to get up, careful not to jostle me. 

More asleep than awake, I managed a wordless noise of disgruntled protest, and his voice was warm, and amused when he spoke.

“You need rest. We both do. And there are better places to get it than the down here.”

My bed would be cold and lonely. No way was that better. But, Bruce had already given me more than I had any right to expect. I nodded, and tried to find a shred of energy to stand up.

“I don’t think so.” Bruce leaned down to lift me into his arms. I’m not exactly light, but he carried me like I weighed no more than a small child.

I felt his muscles flex, and the contained strength in his movements made me feel safe and secure. Part of me thought I should object. Instead, I told my pride to shove it, and curled my face into the firm muscles of his chest. There was only the bats to see us, and I don’t think they cared about us silly humans.

Bruce doesn’t like to show his softer side much, and when he does, it’s usually with actions rather than words. Like tonight, he helped me, when he could have just medicated me into oblivion. When he held me, he was careful to avoid the worst of my bruises. Hells, apparently he was determined to see me safely tucked into bed. 

We made our way back up to the manor more slowly than usual, but that was alright. Gave me more time to imprint all the sensations that cascaded through me. The smell of sweat and soap, overlaid with the chemical tang left behind by the suit, the slight rasp from the hair on his arms and chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat, all of it.

Then Bruce turned left instead of right, and my eyes flew open. 

“Wha...?” My confusion must have shown in my attempt at a question, and the arms around me tightened slightly.

Bruce didn’t slow down or pause, only nudged the door to the master suite open and moved across the room to the bed. His grip shifted, and he set me down without so much as a bump so the mattress cradled my abused body. 

“If you think I’m about to leave you alone, think again. Whatever this issue is, if it was bad enough to leave you in that state, I’m pretty sure you need contact for more than half an hour,” he explained, as he reached over to toggle the controls near the bed. The lights came up on low, just enough to see by. 

It’s not often you will see me speechless, but he managed it. All I could do was nod, as Bruce fussed with the blankets and pillows around me for a moment, then moved into the bathroom. I heard the suit hit the floor, then the shower ran for a few minutes. A slight pause, and he was back, this time on the other side of the bed.

It only took a few seconds, and then he slid in and arranged himself next to me. Pressed so close together, it was obvious he had on only a pair of the boxer shorts he habitually slept in. There should have been awkwardness, but I got lost in how good it felt, how the heat from both our bodies formed a cocoon for me to float in, the pressure of him next to me assured I could let myself drift.

But, this wasn’t fair. I couldn’t ask Bruce to spend a night in a situation that made him uncomfortable just because I wanted to be selfish. “You don’t have to,” I told him. “I can handle it.”

“When have you ever known me to do something I didn’t want to do?” His voice was quiet, but calm. “I told you before, I want to help. This is fine. Don’t worry about it.”

I wanted to ask if he was sure, if he would be angry in the morning once he had a chance to think about it all. I tensed again, and fought the urge to curl into the warmth of his body next to mine.

“I’m hardly going to start lying to you now.” There was a pause while he turned out the lights, before he turned slightly, and hooked his leg over mine, and his arm was across my chest to hold me in place. 

In the darkness, his voice lowered. “It’s okay to take what you need.”

I fought back a shiver at his breath against my ear, and couldn’t help but snort, just a little. “You’re one to talk,” I replied. But I didn’t move away.

***

It was a matter of minutes before Dick’s eyes slid closed, and his body drifted toward sleep. Part of me waited to feel uncomfortable. The rest of me laughed at the very idea. Handed my daydream on a platter and I waited to feel awkward because I thought I should.

With a bit of effort, I focused on the situation, or rather the person, at hand. Before I could stop myself, I stroked his hair away from his face, repeated the gesture a few times. When he made a low hum, I froze, then recognized approval, and smiled slightly.

The last few days had not been easy. I owed Alfred an apology for all the times I’d growled at him, demanded the near impossible. But in the sixty-six hours that elapsed after it became clear Dick was gone, I thought of one worst case scenario after another: each possible torture worse than the last, all underscored by the persistent reminder that I might already be too late to find him.

I’d moved us upstairs so Dick could be comfortable, yes, but I’d also wanted to be in my own bed before I completely ran out of energy. The last time I slept for more than an hour was before I got word of the kidnapping, and I’d only managed to snatch bites of food here and there, usually when Alfred threatened me into it. Don’t let that stoic British facade fool you. He can be a manipulative bastard when he feels he needs to.

Now, with the danger over, I relaxed, at least as much I ever did, and tried to process what Dick had admitted to me earlier. I’d have to look up the symptoms he described; something about them rang a bell, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. In the meantime, I needed a chance to find my usual mental equilibrium. 

Whatever had caused the explosions in the warehouse complex where Robin had been held, the only men still there had died in it. The anger that flooded through me wanted revenge for every mark on my partner’s skin, but I chained it back, reminded myself he would be alright, and needed me in control. I couldn’t afford to hunt down those who got away and indulge my temper.

You don’t become someone like me without a true understanding of your own darker impulses, but I’d surprised myself at how much I wanted to hurt them. 

But, Dick was more important. Despite the fact we’d grown apart recently, he’d always been a priority in my life, more than he knew. Of course he didn’t, not when I pushed him away so often. It’s not that I planned it, or wanted to, but that’s not the point either. True, part of it was the usual growing pains you get when someone grows up, but that wasn’t all of it.

Another, larger part of it though, had more to do with my own feelings. The older he got, the harder it was for me to deny how attractive he was, the depth of my feelings, but I still kept things on a platonic level. I remember, it really hit me the night of a United Way gala we agreed to attend. As usual, Dick was a few minutes late, and rushed in with an apology, while he tried to fix his tie.

I waved off the apology, and moved to help him without a second thought. One perfect bowtie later, I dropped my hands and stepped back. When he grinned at me in thanks, my breath caught, and for an instant, I would have sworn I was in freefall.

Denial and I are old friends, so I shrugged my reaction off. Later, as I danced with the latest woman who thought she was the perfect candidate to be the future Mrs. Wayne, I reminded myself to spend some time in meditation. It made way more sense that it was a one-time thing, a minor lapse in control, brought on by the fact that Dick had grown into an exceptionally beautiful young man. 

It was natural to admire someone, from an aesthetic point of view. And it was hardly the first time an attractive guy had caught my attention. Granted, I didn’t act on such attractions, at least not at home in Gotham where I might be recognized, but that didn’t mean it was anything remarkable.

Of course, it would have been easier to tell myself that, if it had actually been a one-time thing. Unfortunately, now that I had noticed him that way, I couldn’t seem to stop. The self control I’d thought unshakeable, all but deserted me. I had just enough left that I kept it from him, but I worried that wouldn’t last.

The anger Dick thought I directed at him when we fought wasn’t a defense mechanism I was proud of, but it was better than the alternative. Once, I thought some villain would take him from me, but as the days went on, I worried the truth of my feelings would drive him away.

Never before had my reliance on logic failed me so utterly. I reminded myself that he was nearer to twice my age than I liked to think about, that as Batman, I hunted those who took advantage of children. I lectured myself about my responsibilities as his parental figure, on what I risked losing, as Bruce and Batman, if certain facts were revealed.

None of it mattered. I could admit to many different feelings for Dick, even when he made me so angry I wanted to scream, but none of those feelings were the least bit paternal. I’d always thought that we’d both be better off if I was his friend. He already had a father, and no one could- or should- fill that void.

We spent more time together than apart, what with patrols and other Bat related activities. I suppose it was inevitable we develop a certain affinity. But the truth is, I enjoy the time we spend together, as just Bruce and Dick, just as much. That’s why I pushed so hard about college. I’d hoped he would accept a position with Wayne Enterprises once he’d earned his degree. Not that I had any reason to believe he would want to, given how things had been lately,

Mindful of the still body next to me, I suppressed a sigh. Dick had never promised he would be Robin – or for that matter, my partner- forever. But life without him in it didn’t bear thinking about. 

Perhaps that’s why the sight of him in such pain had affected me so deeply earlier. He could have asked me for something so much worse and I would have done it without hesitation. Not that my current situation was likely to be particularly good for my self control, but it didn’t matter. 

Some of those who know me like to tell me I’m a brave man but I’m not sure that’s so. I can be brave, if the situation - or the cowl - warrants it, but I’m as prone to cowardice as the next man. I just choose to act in spite of it. 

I laid in the dark, listened as Dick breathed in and out, and tried not to think about how the reality of my feelings for him cut me off at the knees. The thought of Dick wrapped up like this with someone else, made anger bubble up to join fear. But I had no claim on him, he wasn’t mine. Even if I was brave – or was it foolish?- enough to tell him how I felt, one sided feelings couldn’t make him mine.

Whatever the cause, his symptoms would need to be managed properly. But, outside of emergency circumstances, I highly doubted Dick would choose to have me help him. 

Still, that raised an interesting point. In the past, I’d limited the amount I touched him, both for my sake and his. If I understood the problem correctly, my reasons for less contact could no longer be the only consideration. Perhaps instead of my own fears and wishes, this solitary time would be better spent deciding how to augment my self control. I would need it. My walls were fine when they protected me, but if they hurt him, my own personal barriers would need to be changed. No more safe distances, not if they put him in danger. 

I planned to stay up for the night, watch over Dick and allow myself the luxury of enjoying how his body felt next to mine, but sleep claimed me a little while later. I wasn’t out long, just under three hours, but I woke as false dawn lightened the room through a crack in the curtain, more refreshed than I had felt in a long time. 

We’d changed positions at some point. Dick’s head rested against my chest, though I still had one arm around him. Absurdly contented to be able to hold him, my other hand followed the curve of his jaw, and I watched his face as he dreamed. I’d heard people looked younger in sleep; Dick looked more relaxed, softer somehow. It took me a few moments to realize the biggest difference. In the last few months, I hadn’t seen him without lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, and a set to his body that spoke of pain, the kind you shove down deep because you know you can’t do anything about it. Given our lifestyle, injury was a foregone conclusion, so I had shrugged it off as par for the course. Guilt coursed through me, that I hadn’t seen the real problem, hadn’t asked.

Part of me wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told me. But I already knew the answer. It’s hard to maintain a friendship across a veritable chasm of distance. And his problem wasn’t something he could confide in just anyone. Even without the details of it, I could see what it cost him to admit. 

Fear and pride are not acceptable reasons to hurt someone you cared about. And they aren’t acceptable reasons to let them down either. But somehow, I’d managed to do both. It wasn’t a comfortable realization.

I shifted slightly, and fought the urge to stretch. Even that small movement was enough for Dick notice. He frowned, and his eyes fluttered open.

For the first few seconds, his gaze was sleepy and blank, as he looked up at me. I watched the memory of what had happened come back to him, though I could tell he tried to keep his face neutral.

“Sorry to wake you,” I murmured. And I was. He needed more rest, though he seemed less tense, even now that he was awake. Deliberately, I left my arm around him, and kept still. 

A smile flickered at his lips. “I’m using you as a body pillow and you’re sorry?”

“Are you feeling better?” Deflection is a specialty of mine. 

“Somewhat. I think so, anyways. My bruises have bruises, so it’s a little hard to tell. Can’t concentrate on just one problem very well.”

All things considered, it could have been much worse. In fact, it had been worse, physically, at least, in the past. Still, my hands clenched into fists as I battled with my anger for a moment. “If you think you can tolerate it, I’ll get you something for the bruises, and something light to eat.” The last thing I wanted was to leave him, but practicalities wouldn’t attend to themselves.

A soft knock at the door interrupted before Dick could answer. I looked down at him in question, and when he nodded, I extricated myself, careful not to jostle him too much, and walked over to open it.

“I thought you might need more medicine and something to eat, sir.” Dressed in his pajamas as his only concession to the hour, Alfred was his usual tidy self as he handed me a tray with two bowls of his chicken soup, some pills and a cup of water, and a cup of black coffee for me.

Of course, he would have known when we came home, and that I’d only have gone to bed with Dick safe and sound. And if he was at my door, he knew exactly where Dick was right now, and wasn’t that just a revelation I could have done without. I had no regrets about what I’d done, but that didn’t mean I wanted to explain it.

“Thank you,” I told him, grateful that he had his sixth sense about what I needed, even as I dreaded the questions I knew he had every right to ask.

“You’re quite welcome. Please tell Master Richard I am ever so glad he’s safely home again,” was all he said in reply, his tone calm and even. 

With Alfred, that’s not really a gauge of what he’s thinking. I suspect he’d use that same tone if he thought the world had ended. I would have answered, but he’d already closed the door and gone on his way. Knowing him, to get a jump on his morning duties.

It only took a moment or two to set the tray on one of the bedside tables and bring the lights up, still on low. I slid back beneath the blankets, then paused. For all I knew, Dick wanted to go to his own bed, but, he hadn’t moved. As I got closer, I noticed the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his hands, clenched in the sheets, like he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t reach out. The pulse in his neck was faster, his eyes slightly wider.

When it hit me, I mentally kicked myself. He expected me to be angry, or upset, or both. Clearly, he still needed contact, but wanted me to think he was fine, so I could tell him to go, if that’s what I wanted.

“Take it easy,” I told him, as I helped him sit up, then propped pillows behind him, so he wouldn’t have to work at it. I let my hands linger as I moved, on his shoulder, the line of his spine. Once he was comfortable, I settled beside him close enough that my weight would be a comforting pressure against his side.

Fear flashed in his eyes before he masked it; He hid it well, he had a good teacher, but the dim light was still enough for me to catch it.

“I’m not angry,” I reassured him, as I handed him the pills, then water. No way would he let me feed him, unless his arms were broken, no matter how much it hurt, so better to medicate first. Once the pills were down, I put the tray on a pillow on his lap, and handed him the spoon.

His glance up at me was quick, then his eyes went back to his soup, and his shoulders slumped. “Maybe you should be. It’s a weakness I haven’t eradicated, after all.”

“It’s a part of who you are. And the fact you’ve controlled it so well for this long speaks to strength, not weakness,” I corrected.

Yes, I’d told him he couldn’t afford weakness, but that wasn’t a reason to try and be something you aren’t. Another difference I hadn’t properly explained, apparently. But that was a problem for another time.

“This isn’t a character flaw, or a bad habit. It’s a part of you, like eye color, or height,” I began, careful to keep my tone calm. “I’ll admit, I wish you’d told me, but I can understand why you didn’t. But I hope you can believe I want to help you figure out how to handle it, keep something like this from happening again.”

That got a slow nod, and I smiled at the confusion I could see him trying not to show.

“It’s probably not a news flash, but I’m not the most tactile of people. Those boundaries run deep for me. But under the circumstances, I can bend them a little.” Perhaps the biggest understatement I’ve ever made, like calling the Joker a little crazy. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, no matter how exposed or vulnerable it made me feel.

The smile he gave me when in response made it all worth it.

***

In the days that followed, my resolve to be there for Dick, but not take advantage of his situation was sorely tested. It got more and more difficult to ignore my reaction to our increased closeness, the artless gratitude Dick showed when I allowed him liberties I would have given no one else.

There was nothing sexual about them, but the increased intimacy gave my libido ideas. Self denial and control have always been the cornerstones of my worldview. They’ve had to be. But, I’m no saint, and Dick would tempt a whole legion of them. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to realize how handsome he is, and I’m certainly not about to mention it.

Between the various facets of Dick’s recovery and the usual night patrols, I had plenty to keep my mind occupied most of them time. But, even I had to sleep sometime. I laid in the dark, and couldn’t help it. I replayed the night he’d spent in my bed. And when I fell asleep, we did a lot more than talk. Disgusted with myself, I rolled out of bed, and walked to the shower. 

Shame churned my stomach while I soaped up, and washed away the evidence of how much I enjoyed the dream. I had no right to think such things, to be so inappropriate, especially now, when he trusted me to help him. It would be easier if I could chalk it all up to purely physical urges, but I disliked lying to myself. You’d think I would have outgrown impossible dreams by now, but apparently not.

I made my way down to the kitchen earlier than usual, but Alfred was already there. I swear, the man has some kind of radar about those he considers his charges. As I walked in, he poured my coffee, and set the newspaper beside my plate. 

“Good morning, Master Bruce.”

I nodded, and reminded myself not to take my mood out on him. “Good morning, Alfred.” 

He smiled at me, his gaze sharp, as he looked me up and down, but he said nothing, only stepped out of the room to get breakfast. Today’s was an egg white omelette and fresh fruit, perfectly prepared as usual, but I picked at it, and only took a sip or two of coffee.

“If I may remind you sir, food isn’t all that helpful if all it does is decorate your plate. Might you feel better if you confide whatever it is that is troubling you?”

It was the same offer he’d made more times than I could remember, and I considered it, for a moment. But, I couldn’t. Not this. I’d never liked to disappoint him, and that would be the mildest part of his reaction. “Thank you, but no,” I told him.

“Very well,” he accepted that, and moved toward the door to the kitchen.

Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t notice he’d come back toward me until he dropped into the chair beside mine and touched his hand to my arm. 

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your brooding, Master Bruce, but I find I’ve lost my taste for watching you torture yourself. And I suspect you are labouring under some erroneous conclusions.” 

I tried to speak, but he held up a hand.

“No. You’ll get your turn. But this is mine, and I intend to use it. Given the events of the last few days, it’s completely natural that you have concerns regarding Master Richard, and I am gratified the most recent crisis has brought you closer together. What I don’t understand is why you are so determined to punish yourself for what you feel for him.”

Of course he noticed. The man notices everything. I wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Still, the least I could do was set his mind at ease. “I have no right. And I know it’s wrong.”

“And here we come to the erroneous conclusions.” Alfred leaned back and waited until I looked at him. When he spoke again, his tone had the edge that told me I’d annoyed him.

“He may be young, but he is not a boy any longer. He has a right to be loved, just as you do.”

“He’s in my care. I have no right to think these things about him, of all people.”

“And why not?” Alfred retorted. “You trust him with your life. Is it such a stretch to trust him with your heart? He is the one person in this world who understands you, truly knows who you are. That’s a rare gift, one you shouldn’t be so quick to throw away simply because you worry about disapproval.” His tone was still sharp, but there was only understanding in his eyes.

Shock blanked my mind and I had to pause to collect my thoughts. “Knowing someone that way doesn’t mean you want to be with them. And the fact he knows me that way doesn’t change the fact I am nearly twice his age.”

“Well, at least now you’re concerned with facts, rather than assumptions,” Alfred conceded. “But age is less important than maturity, I would say. And we both know that some people have much more of that than others, regardless of chronological age.”

I couldn’t disagree, much as I felt like I should. 

But he wasn’t finished. “I will admit there may be factors I am not aware of, sir. But no one should be punished for what they feel. I would never presume to do so, and I hope you won’t either.”

***

Recovery time from injury varies according to a person’s strength, stamina and sheer stubbornness. Add the fact that Dick had other issues to contend with that I simply couldn’t account for and I wasn’t sure how long he would need to recover.

Still, I wasn’t surprised when he came to find me in the cave only three days later. I raised an eyebrow, as I tracked his progress down the stairs, but said nothing. I wouldn’t have taken the elevator either. He limped as he made his way to his chair, but I still didn’t comment. 

“I was just about to come and find you,” I said instead, and handed him the file I’d just printed.

He glanced at the contents, then paused and read more slowly. “Who is Blake Hensley, and why am I reading about her?”

“I cross referenced a list of your symptoms and their cause through my archived reports index and her name came up. I knew I’d come across some of them quite a few years ago. 

Blake’s mother, Marda, was a witness in a case I was involved in early in my career. She was involved with a man who helped a crew rob banks. She had many of the same problems. She phrased it differently, and passed it off as a health condition that ran in her family. When things went bad on the last job, her boyfriend used her as a punching bag, then as a human shield. I persuaded him to let her go. ”

“Why isn’t the file on her then?” Dick asked.

“Unfortunately, she died a few years ago. Cancer. But, Blake still lives in Gotham. I’m hoping she knows at least some of the history we need to know about.”

We waited several more days; I had to be sure Robin was up to going out with me, even for simple reconnaissance. For once, things actually stayed simple. 

It was child’s play to track Hensley’s movements, learn her schedule. 

She was smaller than I expected, a tiny wisp of a thing, with a sleek cap of nearly white blonde hair, but she didn’t even blink at our appearance, and considered our request to talk to her about her mother with no signs of fear.

“Alright,” she agreed finally. “But not here. I don’t need my nosy boss asking what the dynamic duo wanted with me. I assume you know where I live. I’ll be home in half an hour. We can talk then.”

Her apartment had decent security. I let Robin amuse himself; he dealt with the system with his usual efficiency. We let ourselves in, made sure we were alone, and took the usual precautions against eavesdroppers.

When Hensley arrived, she went straight to the point. “You’re a bit late for condolences, so what exactly about my mother do you need to know?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Robin beat me to it. 

“Ms. Hensley, do you remember the health condition your mom had? Not the cancer, the one she said ran in her family; she probably had it most of her life?”

Her answer to that was a slow nod.

“Well, her and I aren’t related, but I think I might have something similar, maybe even the same thing. But I don’t know anything about it. We’re hoping you might.”

We hadn’t agreed to divulge that much information, but it was his secret to tell, if he chose. I could only hope he had chosen wisely.

After a long pause, she paced forward and reached out to take Robin’s hand. There was no threat in her movements, or body language, so I allowed it. 

Only someone who knew him well would have noticed how carefully still he held himself, or that he startled when she slid his glove off to grasp his bare hand, but made no move to stop her. 

I remembered the importance of bare skin with his issues, so I didn’t interfere, though I didn’t like her touching him.

Another long moment of silence passed. Then she dropped his hand. “Well, hell. I guess I can’t send you packing. I promised mom I’d help anyone legit who came looking. But I hope you’re both more open minded than you look, or we’re in for a difficult conversation.”

“Why is that, exactly?” Robin asked.

I was probably the only one who noticed the impatience that edged his voice for the first time.

She answered his question with one of her own. “Have you ever heard of the Iyndari?”

He shook his head. “No. What’s that?

I was careful not to show any outward reaction, though I’d come across the word once, in the midst of research for something else.

“Not a what, a who,” she explained. “People like us who are something a little bit different. When they were first discovered, people thought maybe they were a different race, or species. But they’re more of an extended family – like a clan. 

Actually, the Iyndari are one of several clans, all of whom have different abilities and are considered not quite human, because of it. The Iyndari are all about emotion, they feel it differently than most, and control and manipulate it differently than regular people. Take the usual empathy we all have and max it out. It usually only goes one way though; either they feel whatever those around them do, or they can project what they feel on to others.

And they have a very distinct feel to them, and you’ve got it, my friend. It’s weird though, they don’t normally mix with outsiders.”

Brow furrowed in concentration, Robin answered while he thought that over. “My parents were estranged from their families. They never really talked about why, except to say the families they were born into disapproved of them being together. So, they found a new family, and then made it bigger.”

He never liked to talk about his family, but his mask, and practice hid that well.

Still, for her part, Hensley looked sympathetic for a moment, then spoke again. “Well, I can’t tell you which side of your family comes from Iyndari stock. I could get in enough trouble if it comes out I told you this much.”

Hensley nodded her head at me, then continued.

“But, if he’s as good at finding things out as they say, he’ll probably be able to dig some more facts up for you. Take ‘em with a grain of salt though. Most of what’s on the ‘Net is crap, even if you can find it.”

“Thank you for telling me this much,” Robin told her, as we moved to her balcony door. 

Just as we were about to pull our usual exit, she called out. “Wait. I need to talk to Robin, alone. I swear on the memory of my mother, I won’t hurt him. But, he’s clan. You’re not,” she explained. She bounced on the balls of her feet a little, and her fingers trembled while she played with the hem of her sleeve.

After a moment to consider, I nodded my permission. “I’ll wait in the car.” 

I wanted to leave the comms feed on, but I didn’t. Like it or not, this was only my business if it affected Robin’s ability to do his job, or if he chose to share it. If we were going to put things right between us, I needed to show him that I trusted his judgement, when it was appropriate. Besides, I had enough innocent blood on my hands. The last thing I needed was to get the girl hurt because she talked to someone who wasn’t clan. Such things were most often deadly serious to those involved, and I couldn’t be absolutely certain she wasn’t monitored.

***

Once Batman vanished from sight, Hensley took a deep breath, and collapsed on to her couch as she let it out. “Look, I have more questions than answers about all of this myself. Not exactly what you’d call an expert. But there’s a bit more you should know, like the reason you’re like the human leech.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

There was a good chance I was already in trouble for over sharing. No need to tell her even more about myself.

“You know, extra touchy feely. It’s cool. You don’t have to explain. Mom always said it’s because her abilities work best when she can touch someone, so the need to touch was hardwired a bit differently in her brain.”

She paused, and licked her lips. When she spoke again, the words came slower, like she picked her way through a verbal mine field. 

“The thing is, I get why it happens. And by now I’m sure you know what happens if you ignore it. But, you haven’t had your abilities long enough to know exactly what they can do. The stronger you get, the more important it is that you deal with it. The full version of this mojo, it can be intense, and most people with it go through phases where they try and ignore it.”

By now it’s habit to analyze not only what people say, but how they say it. But, I couldn’t focus so much on my training right then. I would have sworn the temperature dropped, and I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. It took effort to wrench my attention back to her.

“I can’t give you an exact timeline for then the full effect will hit you. But when it does, you need to make sure you deal with it. For you, touch is another source of energy, like food, because if you don’t eat, you’ll starve. There won’t be any sign of injury, but make no mistake, it can end you.”

It should have been ridiculous, and over-dramatic. This girl was my age, and looked like more like a model than a scholar. Part of me wanted to shrug her off, but the rest of me was too busy believing her.

“So I need touch like most people need a tuna on rye. I’m developing special skills in emotional manipulation that I have to accept whether I like it or not.”

“Well, I’d argue the manipulation part. Your abilities are just like you, they can be good or bad. If you work at it, they might even be useful when it comes to your...extracurricular activities,” she countered. 

“I know this is a lot. And, believe me, I know what it sounds like. I grew up with it, and half the time, I don’t even want to believe it.”

“Yeah, it would be easier if I didn’t believe you. Should I be expecting any other surprises?” I managed to keep the bitterness out of my voice, mostly.

“This whole thing won’t magically turn you into a mind reader, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she offered, sympathy back in her eyes, though her tone was still matter of fact. “But I thought you should know that the stronger your feelings are for someone, the more intense what you pick up or project can be. And the closer you are, or that you want to be, the easier it is to pick up more than you should, even when you have control. And speaking of, I can give you a head start on some control. ”

She sprang off the couch, darted into her bedroom and back before I could ask what she had in mind. When she dropped onto the couch again, she carried a small leather bound notebook. “It’s a how-to guide, well kinda. My mom wrote it; she thought I might inherit her abilities, and need guidance.”

She smiled; it was sad, but her hand was steady when she held out the book. “Turns out, I have just enough skills to know when someone else has ‘em, but that’s it. So, take it, read it, copy it. Whatever. Just, bring it back in the same condition when you’re done, and don’t flash it around.” 

I hesitated, then reached out and took it. “Thank you. Really, for everything. Not just anyone would hand over a family heirloom, especially under these circumstances. Promise or no promise.”

She nodded, and shrugged one shoulder. “Under the circumstances, call me Blake. And if you wanna thank me, just make sure you listen to what it says.” 

After a moment, she turned to the end table, and grabbed piece of paper and a pen. “You probably would have looked it up in about two seconds, but here’s my email anyway. If you have questions with it, drop me a line, and I’ll see what I can do.”

***

By the time I dropped into my seat in the Batmobile, I’d managed to calm down. The whole exchange had felt longer than it actually was; Batman sat in the driver’s seat, no sign of the usual pinched lipped expression he got when we were delayed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, as we pulled out of the alley and headed home. 

The notebook felt overly heavy in my inside pocket, but I nodded anyway. “I’m good.”

Silence stretched out between us, and my shoulder blades itched. He hadn’t asked, but after everything, surely I owed him an explanation. But, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to go there. The whole thing was surreal, and talking about it wouldn’t make it better. Then again, I had enough to stress about, without wondering if Batman would decide this meant no more fieldwork until I had better control.

“I’m a quick study. I’m sure I’ll pick up whatever’s in the book pretty fast,” I commented. Nice and neutral, but still enough he would get the point.

“Something like this, and it comes with a text book? How convenient.” You could have cut the sarcasm with a knife, but I didn’t react. That’s just how the Bat gets when he doesn’t know everything there is to know about a subject.

Instead, I studied his profile, and replayed the last minute or so. “You didn’t listen.” It wasn’t a question, but he nodded.

“I didn’t need to. You’ll tell me what I need to know.”

So simple and matter of fact, I had to smile. Maybe actions speak louder than words, but sometimes words are pretty awesome, too.

***

Despite my usual confidence, the lessons in the notebook didn’t flow as easily as I hoped: not even close. Bruce was good about giving me time to study, that wasn’t the problem. And the instructions were clear and concise, in plain English, none of the mystical mumbo jumbo I’d been afraid of.

After a few days, I knew for certain that I was an emotional sponge. Okay, that I was definitely on the receptive side of the emotional spectrum, as Marda put it. But in practical terms, that meant I could get impressions of emotions from pretty much every damn body. And those impressions had a tendency to turn into overwhelming deluges, so yeah, sponge.

At least, most of the time. Turns out, people feel a lot, and they like to spew it all over their friends and neighbours. Hells, most of ‘em should just take out a billboard. They’d be more subtle. Every now and again, I run across someone who’s had a really bad day, or maybe they’re just louder, but either way, I get clobbered with what they feel. When that happens, I need to be by myself for a while, decompress, and remember the difference between my own feelings and the rest of the crap. If I don’t, I dump it on the next person to touch me. 

According to Marda’s book, the ability to both receive and project is seen as a special blessing among Iyndari. The night I came home, overcome with grief that wasn’t mine, and accidentally gave some of it to Barbara, I didn’t feel particularly blessed. 

Even though I did it by accident, it totally wiped me out, and slammed me with an ice-pick behind my eyeball headache. I slept hard, dropped like a rock for hours. When I woke up I explained the basics to her, and apologized profusely. And I knew she really did forgive me because she didn’t ask the questions I could see crowded in her eyes.

She just reminded me she was around if I needed to talk and went off to see Bruce about whatever questions she had for him. 

In the grand scheme of things, I’ve done worse. But, it reminded me I needed to work harder, to figure out the rights and wrongs of reading people with this new sense of mine. When I would, when wouldn’t I? That sort of thing. I’d never really wrestled my conscience over the whole Robin thing, but this was different...way, way different.

With some effort, I got a handle of the barrier people like me were supposed to shove between themselves and the rest of the world. The fact that that effort left me pale and shaking in my bed the first few dozen times I tried it, was no one business but my own. 

But, when I started trying to read impressions on purpose, I might as well have just beat my head against a brick wall. The headache that resulted would probably have been smaller than the one I always ended up with when I practiced. 

Bruce knew about my attempts; He’d asked, not demanded -and wasn’t that a thrill- to be updated, so I’d obliged him. 

I explained the difficulty in maintaining my barriers, and trying to figure out how to lower them just enough to read someone, then waited for the warnings.

But, he’d surprised me. Rather than the this is serious frown I expected, he smiled slightly, and reached to squeeze my shoulder in encouragement. “You’ll get it, Dick. You’ve never met an obstacle you can’t overcome.”

“Damn right,” I agreed with a grin. I kept my tone light, but I couldn’t stop the glow of warmth that radiated through me. When someone who’s accomplished as much as Bruce believes in you like that, it’s a rush. Besides, I can admit it. I’m as partial to admiration as the next guy, and there’s still some part of me that wants his approval.

Even with my newfound skills, the want didn’t really get any smaller. It’s like a really big dog, you can put a leash on it and control it, but it can still yank the leash and run. Eventually, I got better at the barriers, learned to shore them up, or thin them out. The want was easier to leash when I wasn’t subconsciously trying to pick up all the damn time, or cope with input that wasn’t mine. 

Unfortunately, the need for touch could still coil around me, steal all the air from a room and leave me weak in the knees, usually at the worst possible time. I still had a harder time with it if I was tired, or hurt. But, true to his word, Bruce went out of his way to touch me more often, and not just on the tough days. 

Since he brought me home after Riddler’s latest stunt, we hung out more, things were easier between us, and he’d sling an arm over my shoulder when we watched TV or walked to the media room to watch a movie. Hells, he even managed to be more tactile in training, and on patrol, and Batman has always been more abrupt, and much more distant.

Not to say he wasn’t awkward about it, but you’d really have to know him to notice his slight hesitations, the occasional catch in his breath, like he had to brace himself. I told myself to be grateful for what I was given and leave it at that. It didn’t really help, especially since the increase in physical contact meant I couldn’t deny that the need was quietest for longest when Bruce touched me. I’m a teenaged guy; of course I wondered how much better some not so platonic touches would feel.

I tried to leave it there, but late at night, I laid in bed, caught between awake and asleep, I remembered the night I’d spent in his room, in his bed. I could feel how safe and protected I’d felt in his arms. I knew I could let go, and just be. He’d catch me, make sure nothing bad happened. More to the point, he wanted to. 

But, he’d simply helped with a problem, I reminded myself. He had no idea the effect he had on me, or that my too stupid to know any better heart wanted to share so much more with him, and let him share right back. Like somehow, what I wanted could change who he was.

I punched the pillow, then shifted to get comfortable, or tried to. Patrol had been too easy to tire me out. And this line of thought wasn’t helping. Nothing like wishing for the impossible to keep you awake.

I gave sleep up as a lost cause, and let my brain have what it wanted. There was no one here in the comfortable, familiar darkness. So what did it matter? I replayed all the glimpses of Bruce I usually pretended not to catalogue: his chest as he got out of the pool, his mouth as he licked dessert off his lips, the curve of his ass as he climbed out of the shower and into his towel, the smooth silk of his skin against mine when he helped me up or corrected my form when we sparred.

Probably shouldn’t have surprised me that my imagination took things from there. I reached down, took myself in hand, and remembered how good it felt when he pinned me, that body pressed down over every inch of me. I never let myself think about it when it actually happened, because I didn’t need to make a complete idiot of myself, but this was different.

Steady and slow, like I had all the time in the world, I stroked until I could feel my body start the long, slow slide toward getting off, and then I stopped. So hard I ached, I started over again, deliberately tormented myself, until all I could think was if I didn’t come soon, that’d be the end of me. Then I shut my eyes and imagined Bruce naked and ready, there with me. It was him who set my hands on the headboard and ordered me not to move them, his tone harsh with the knowledge I couldn’t possibly disobey. It was his mouth that tracked down my body inch by agonizingly slow inch, opened me up so he could take me, and then slid into me hard and fast, too fast but it didn’t matter because the burn felt so good.

I didn’t even get a chance to stroke myself again. Just the thought of what he could do to me and I came so hard I couldn’t catch my breath, and everything went way too light.

Eventually, I moved to clean up. And don’t get me wrong, it was good. But I felt hollowed out as I fell asleep.

***

We threw a party for my eighteenth birthday. It was expected, and I didn’t really mind, though it was more Bruce’s crowd than mine, you know, society types. Bunch of people who thought they knew me, and him, for that matter. Barbara had promised to come by, and I’d seen a few friends from school near the entrance to the ballroom, but I didn’t stop to talk to them either.

I’d agreed to put in an appearance, but truth be told the whole thing gave me a headache, though I couldn’t be sure if it was from the noise of the crowd, or the press of feelings that jabbed at my walls, despite my best efforts to keep them out. 

Bruce didn’t hold large events very often, and this was the first one I’d been at the centre of, as the guest of honor since I’d discovered my newfound talent. Sure I’d helped Alfred plan the party, it was fun, and I figured the least I could do was help, since it was for me. I even made sure my favorite tux was back from the dry cleaner’s. Nailed all the details, but failed to consider what the crush of people might mean I was subjected to.

More distracted than I should have been, I didn’t see the tall, blonde until I knocked into her shoulder. She was older than me, probably by about a decade, though good plastic surgery meant she didn’t look it. Her dress was one of those short, tight numbers that left very little to the imagination.

“Sorry about that. Should have been watching,” I apologized. 

“Not at all. It’s nothing,” she answered, and amusement glinted in her eyes. “Now I can say I had you all to myself for a few minutes. I’m Miranda, and I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Dick.” 

Rather than a shared joke, I’d swear she was laughed at me silently, as her eyes tracked down my body, like she would strip off my clothes if she could.

“Nice to meet you,” I told her in my best distant tone. So not interested in conversation with the likes of her, I shifted my weight to turn and walk away. 

Before I could, she put one hand on my shoulder, tugged me closer, and kissed me.

“A kiss for the birthday boy,” she told me, the silent laugh a bit louder.

I stepped back, and resisted the urge to tell her off. No point in it, since she would see that as encouragement.

That’s when I noticed Bruce, headed in our direction, his face carefully blank. His stride wasn’t the usual lazy playboy strut he always used at parties, too fast, too tightly controlled. As soon as he reached us, he put a hand on Miranda’s arm, and put himself between me and her. 

“Miranda, I’d wondered where you got too. I thought I saw your Jed looking for you,” he told her, voice warm, full of cheerful help, but I could see how tense his muscles were. Definitely pissed off, he just didn’t want her to know it.

By the time he turned back to me, I saw only a touch of wry humor, and he’d made an effort to relax. “Thought you might need a rescue,” he told me, quiet enough that only I could hear him.

“Thanks.” It seemed petty to tell him I could have handled it. He’d only tried to help. Besides, his upset was hot against my skin, beat behind my eyes. 

Then again, the guy has a thing for personal space, so maybe he was irritated she overstepped where it wasn’t wanted.

I reached out for his arm, figured he needed some reassurance everything was okay. Instead, my fingers brushed the soft skin inside his wrist. A small touch, less than many he’d given me in the last few months, but I shouldn’t have done it, not when my barriers were already all but shredded. 

Anger, way past irritation. Anger that bordered on rage. Jealousy, dark and thick, and chased by something that felt a lot like lust. And then, sharp and fast, a surge of longing so intense, tears stung my eyes. A few heartbeats stretched and lasted so much longer than they should have, while this all slammed into me. 

Then Bruce moved his arm away, the motion smooth, but his arm trembled. The tangle of feelings cut off, like someone flipped a switch. So many things I could have said, should have said, but it was all I could do to stand there. I reminded myself to breathe, and tried to remember how to fit back in my own skin, without the extra feelings trampled over top of me.

Next thing I knew, he turned away and sliced through the crowd, then slipped through the door at the back.

No one else noticed, prime liquor and a chance to gossip kept the guests busy. For a second, I froze. My brain simply didn’t want to switch back on. It couldn’t have been. The one glass of champagne I’d indulged in must have hit me harder than I thought. I shook my head, tried to think. 

A heartbeat later, I shook my head and managed not to hit the wall. I didn’t need to think. I needed to trust in my own abilities. Oh, I’d learned to use them, but the past few minutes proved I hadn’t accepted them. Either I was the real deal, or not. 

My eyes drifted shut, I blocked out everything except my replay of tonight: Bruce’s wide, pleased smile when I’d joined him in the ballroom, decked out in my best tux, the glitter of...something in his eyes as he came over, gone too fast to pin down, the warmth of his hand on my arm as he wished me happy birthday. The weight of his eyes on me as he tracked my progress around the grandly decorated room. And the tangle of everything I’d just felt. Not all happy or light, but what did I expect if it came from Bruce?

I hadn’t meant to. I tried not to invade people’s privacy like that. Besides, we discovered fairly quickly he was one of the few people I couldn’t read well if I tried. Said it had something to do with his mental discipline, all the different mystics who trained him. But I could still feel the burn of it, the helpless longing that echoed my own. 

Another few seconds and I was out the same door. It shut with a soft click, and I turned to sneak away. Before I could move, Alfred materialized at my elbow.

“It seems Master Bruce is unwell, sir. He’s gone to his room in search of a remedy of some sort. If you don’t mind leaving the party, perhaps you could check on him. I’ll deal with the party guests.” 

He was as polite as ever, but only an idiot would take it as a request when he spoke so pointedly.

“Yeah, I think I’m partied out. Thanks, Alfred,” I told him, even as I moved down the hall. 

“You’re quite welcome,” he called after me. Just as I got to the elevator, I heard him add something that sounded a lot like good luck.

I didn’t knock when I got to the master suite, just opened the door, stepped in and locked it behind me. 

Bruce turned from near the closet. He had his jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned, and cufflinks off.

With an effort, I ignored the exposed skin of his chest, and walked further into the room. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he told me, as I stopped in front of him, closer than I would have any other time, closer than was polite.

“Why not? Because you might have to be honest with me about what just happened down there?”

“No. Because clearly my self control isn’t what it should be.”

“Funny you should mention that. Until about three minutes ago, I had no idea you needed any, not because of me. Why don’t we talk about that?”

I saw the denial in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the flex of his fingers to raise his palm.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” I dragged breath in, but it was an effort. Temper beat inside my head, wanted me to lash out, demand answers. But, as I stood there, not even my anger could tell me what to say.

There was a long silence, and when he spoke, it sounded like the words had crawled over glass to get out.

““I didn’t like her hands on you. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

His tone was flat, and bland; I recognized it from his press interviews but it didn’t match the clenched fists or his fast exit.

“I’m not asking for an apology.” The words were too fast now, but I couldn’t stop. “I just need to understand.” And it was true, I did. For a guy trained by the best to see what others missed, I’d managed to miss something pretty fucking huge.

Another pause, this one heavier. I stood there, and looked at him, felt my pulse pound in my ears. It cost him to stand there, I could tell. I didn’t know the last time I’d seen him speechless, and his fists were clenched so hard, there would be nail imprints on his palm. I remembered then -how he’d had to force himself to touch me more once I told him, but he did it. All this time, I’d thought it was because he didn’t know how to be so touchy feely. Never in a million years did I think it was because he was hiding how it made him feel.

The flash of skin in the gap of his shirt caught my eye, and I stepped forward before I really thought. What I was about to do was wrong, but part of me – most of me- didn’t care. And if he really wanted to stop me, he would. I closed the last of the distance between us and stroked my hand up his broad chest until it rested over his heart. And as my fingers met skin, I dropped the barriers I’d worked so hard to put in place.

Bruce jerked back, but I expected that, and moved with him. And as soon as I touched him, the feelings slammed into me again, hotter this time, and sharper somehow: desire, shame, tenderness, fear, all overlaid with a bone deep need. I fought to keep myself from going too deep, no matter how desperate I was for the truth, I couldn’t do that to him.

Years of repression suddenly became irrelevant. All the things I’d spent years telling myself I couldn’t feel rushed at me, tightened my chest. Combined with what I felt from him and it was almost too much, I had to fight for air, and my whole body shook. I might have been overwhelmed, but I didn’t care. Whoever said there’s nothing an Iyndari could want more than touch never met Bruce Wayne. 

Reluctantly, I dropped my hand and shifted back so I could think again, at least a little. “All this time, I hated that you saw me as a child, because I thought you saw me as your child.” It was stupid, and my skin heated as I said it, but as the words hung there between us, it still felt like the place to start.

Bruce tried for calm, but his eyes were too dark, and the pulse in his throat jumped. “None of what I feel for you is particularly paternal.” 

And that much is obvious, at least now. But that still leaves me with more questions than answers. Because he didn’t look happy at my little epiphany.

“Would you ever have told me?” 

He looked down then, just for a second, and when his eyes met mine, they were bleak. 

“Probably not. I’m practically old enough to be your father. Even without that dynamic between us, I worried you might feel obligated to return my feelings out of gratitude.”

Geez for a smart guy he can be incredibly thick. I knew that, but this was the first time I got up close and personal with it. “None of what I feel for you has anything to do with gratitude,” I retorted. “And I don’t think the age difference matters once you’ve nearly died together.” 

“Perhaps not.” The acknowledgement was quiet. 

My temper strained again, and I wanted to shake him out of his careful consideration.

“I’m not good at relationships. You deserve better.” 

So quiet I barely heard him, but his tone was raw enough I could hear the struggle it must have been to admit.

“All that proves is that you need to be with someone who knows how much you have to offer, because you clearly don’t. Besides, sooner or later you're going to have to admit that I get to decide who I want to be with.” It came out sharper than I intended, but damned if I'd back down now.

And just like that, heat replaced bleakness, and Bruce looked at me like he hadn’t eaten in a year and I was the buffet. 

“You have me at a disadvantage. You know what I want, but I can’t say the same.”

Again with the wanting to shake him. “Why the hell do you think I followed you up here?”

Silence. He said nothing, only stared at me, ran his eyes down my body slowly.

My mouth went dry, but I managed to get it out. “I’ve wanted you for years.” I think I would have felt less exposed if he’d just stripped me down, than I did when I admitted that, but he was right, it was only fair.

Bruce nodded, but doubt flashed in his eyes, for a moment, disbelief that I didn’t need to read him to get. I could hardly believe he wanted me, and I had proof he did.

Fine. Easy way to fix that. I took a deep breath, reminded myself he would never hurt me. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his, then traced his lips with my tongue the way I’d dreamed of so many times.

For an instant, he tensed, and I thought he would push me away, but one hand came up and gripped my shirt front, and then his mouth slid open under mine. 

Heat washed over me, and I grabbed his shoulders and hung on for the ride. He kissed me like he had all the time in the world to explore every inch of my mouth, but was so hungry he couldn’t get enough of it. I’m no stranger to kissing, but this blew past everything else I’d ever known, because this was Bruce. He kissed with the same devastating thoroughness he did everything else, and when he deepened the kiss and bit my lip, the sting of the bite snapped sparks of pleasure down my spine.

His other hand cupped the back of my neck then, and he made a sound of pleased approval when I tilted my head to give him better access to my throat. Distantly, I decided that his mouth ought to come with a warning label, but then he traced patterns across my jaw and then lower with his tongue and I didn’t want to think anymore. I slid my hands down the smooth muscles of his back, and tried to ignore how tight my pants were.

This time it was his turn to give me time to stop him, when he tugged at me, fit our bodies closer together. I didn’t, of course. Why would I stop him from doing exactly what I wanted? The feel of him, hot and clearly hard, jolted me a bit, but it was good. For once, I wanted to touch, but it had nothing to do with my abilities. I wanted to touch him, map every inch of him, learn what made him shudder and shake, what he looked like when that famous control unraveled.

We kissed again, less controlled, more teeth and tongue, and he sucked at my throat until I knew there would be a mark. The thought of his mark on me just made me hotter and I moaned. 

A slight hitch, barely a pause and I felt him smile. Then he did it again, only harder.

My hips bucked forward then, and he laughed a bit, low and dirty.

“Like that, do you?”

In answer, I kissed him and thrust my tongue against his, then licked down to the pulse point in his throat and lower, so I could make a mark of my own. I felt him twitch and get harder, and couldn’t resist a smirk.

“You were saying?”

His hand tangled in my hair and pulled, hard. I felt the pull down to my toes, and then his mouth was on mine, more desperate now.

If he thought I would object, he was going to be disappointed. Hells, by that point, I’d started to wish we had on less clothes but couldn’t convince myself to let go long enough to make that happen. 

A few moments later, Bruce shifted back, and lifted a hand to undo my tie, then stopped and simply looked at me for a long moment.

“Be sure.” It wasn’t a question. Pressed so close, I could feel how he wanted me, could sense an echo of his fear that I would change my mind.

I wanted to tell him I’ve never been more sure of anything, that no matter what happened, nothing between us could ever be something I’d regret, but the words caught in my throat as I nodded and his relief twined with something else I couldn’t name.

I kissed him again. I focused, not on how much I wanted, and boy did I want, but on how certain I was that this would be good. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have come up here,” I murmured against his lips when I pulled back.

Then I remembered something rather important I’d forgotten, and slid back just a little bit more. “No, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” I told him, before he could do more than tense. “I just need to reset myself mentally. “I’m not sorry I read you, earlier. But I don’t want to go too far.”

He reached out and cupped my jaw, then ran his finger over my lips. I thought he would kiss me again, but he stopped and looked at me, and this time, I could see something tentative and uncertain on his face, feel it in the way he braced for rejection before he opened his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tried for casual. _I trust you_ hung in the air. His voice was low, and rough enough he had to clear his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver.

I nodded. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure my control was up to that kind of test anyway. But, the fact that he would let me see that much of him made me go weak in the knees, even as it warmed me. “Okay,” I answered, then pulled him into another kiss.

Bruce’s arms tightened around me, and then I felt him turn so that I backed into the bed. In between the next set of kisses, he slid my tie and jacket off and began to unbutton my shirt. 

When I tried to help, he caught my hands and growled, low and soft, but unmistakable. “No. Let me.”

Far be it for me to argue with a force of nature. I managed to keep my hands at my sides as he stripped off the shirt, and undid my pants, but didn’t slide them down, or reach into my boxers. Instead he reached down to slide my socks off first, and I couldn’t help but arch toward him.

We’d barely done anything and I was so hard it hurt, and completely unable to separate Bruce’s hunger from my own. Not that it mattered, really. I ran my hands over the bare skin of his chest and moved to his shoulders.

The feel of his broad chest against mine, the rasp of his chest hair, his arms tight around me felt even more amazing than I’d imagined, and it hit me then: this was real, this time I wouldn’t wake up alone in the dark. I pushed the memory away, but he noticed, of course.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I want you, want this, want anything you want to give me,” I admitted. I didn’t mean to keep talking, but the words came anyway. 

“Gods, Bruce. You have no idea. If you knew how long I wanted this.” My voice cracked and I had to stop, words washed away on a new surge of emotion.

“You might be surprised.” For a moment, his breath was hot against my lips and then he kissed me again, deeper this time. I felt him slide his hands up to my nipples, just a tease, then they slid lower, and my pants and boxers went with them.

I didn’t have to look at him to know he liked what he saw, but I couldn’t hold back a tinge of embarrassment. Here I was naked and he was still mostly dressed, and I knew my body could never compare to his.

And, even without my abilities, he knew. When he tossed the boxers away and I stood there naked, he shook his head slightly, and held my hands against the bed before I could even try to cover myself. “You’re gorgeous,” he told me, and kissed my neck, then bit down, lightly at first, then harder when I arched toward him with a moan. 

“Ah, another thing you like.” 

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyways and felt his quiet laugh vibrate against my chest as he licked his way to my nipple. 

I found just enough brain power to tug at him, and jerked my chin back at the bed, but he shook his head. Before I could ask what he had against his mattress, Bruce slid to his knees in one smooth movement and coherent thought was impossible, as I realized what he was about to do.

I’ve had a blow jobs before, mostly from girls but a few from guys, but none of them had even a fraction of Bruce’s talent, and none of them had ever licked and sucked at me like I was the most delectable thing they could possibly imagine. He used just the right amount of suction, worked me with a hand where his mouth wasn’t, knew when to just barely graze me with his teeth, and the sounds he made drove me almost as crazy as his mouth: tiny choked off moans, like he tried to be quiet but just couldn’t, and a low rumble when I couldn’t stop myself and thrust forward.

His fingers dug into my hip, and I would have stuttered an apology, but approval washed over me, and I could almost hear his voice say _more_. He increased his speed, took even more of me down and I thrust harder, helpless to stop. 

It took me a second, but I forced my eyes open and looked down. The picture he made, on his knees, so into what he was doing to me his control had slipped, made me shudder, and I had to lock my knees to be sure I would stay upright. Impossible heat crackled along my skin, and curled my toes, my whole body tensed, tried to get me just that little bit further.

So close, but not quite there, I whined, just a little, beyond caring how I sounded. All the times I had imagined his mouth on me, and I had never come anywhere close to the reality. 

His other hand shifted from near the base of my cock, to my hip. He gripped hard enough to bruise, but the flash of pain was lost when he used his grip to yank me closer and proved he had no gag reflex. His enjoyment rolled over me then, blasted away everything. I tried to warn him, but the words were trapped in my throat. I could only gasp his name and give in to the pleasure that swamped my body. 

It took a few moments before I could think, before I could hear anything over the roar in my ears. I shifted my weight back. My legs wobbled, but then Bruce’s caught me, arms tight around me, as we turned and fell to the bed.

When he kissed me, it was tentative, but I liked that I could taste myself in his mouth, licked and nibbled until the room spun dizzily, and I broke away.

“Not that I think I have room to complain, but don’t you think you’re a bit overdressed, Bruce?”

That got a slow nod. “Perhaps,” he agreed, eyes steady on mine, gaze at least as hot as his mouth had been.

One twist of my hips and a bit of leverage later, and I straddled his waist and reached to undo his belt. I let my hand drop lower, cupped him through the fabric and grinned when his breath hitched. 

He helped me get the pants off, kicked his briefs aside, then sat up slightly to pull off his shirt, and reached for me to pull me forward so I ended up sprawled against his body.

He was still hard, no way I could miss that, and I shifted so I could rub against him, rolled my hips to get the best friction. And that was good, so very, very good. I’d thought the want would be quieter, now, but I’d miscalculated. It buzzed back now, large and angry and ready to run. I felt my arms tremble as I fought to contain it. I could have said why, habit, maybe. Or fear. I’d never let go of it before, never been with anyone I trusted enough that I could.

Caught between what that part of me wanted and what my body screamed for, I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to explain, to ask, something, anything to make it better.

“Dick.” One word, just my name, and it was soft, almost gentle, but when I looked up, I could see it on his face. He knew.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to fight it. Whatever you want.”

“This isn’t just about me,” I protested. More than anything, I didn’t want to be selfish, and I didn’t want what I was to become more important than who I was.

“It’s okay,” Bruce repeated. “I’m sure we’ll both enjoy the exploration.”

He reached up and kissed me, and the trust he had in me, the absolute unshakable faith in my control made my eyes sting, but I blinked and shoved that aside.

When I kissed back, I tried to pour all of my gratitude into it. Sweetness and reassurance gave way to heat faster than even I expected. The minute I focused on the hunger, my body knew better than I did. My hands tracked over his chest and shoulders, over his nipples, down to his navel. The more I touched, the more I wanted.

He breathed faster when I got to his cock, but I skirted that for now, mapped his legs, even his feet. Memorized all the planes and angles with my fingertips, then went back up, and followed the same places with my tongue. He tasted so good, I couldn’t help but say so.

“So do you.” 

The murmured reply tightened things low inside me. Might have been why I got a little greedy, then. In bed with the man I’ve dreamed about since pretty much forever. So sue me.

He stayed quiet for a few minutes, then when I discovered the sensitive spot on his inner thigh, he thrust up and groaned, hands fisted in the sheets. I slid my hand closer to his cock, then stopped to look at him for a long stretched out minute. I wanted to remember this, later, when I reminded myself this had really happened. 

Hells, I barely believed it now. I forced back the stunned awe that flowed through me, as I looked down at Bruce. It’s not every day the universe hands you everything you ever wanted. One hell of a birthday present, that’s for damn sure.

I hadn’t meant to stop, but he only smiled at me. I couldn’t help it then, leaned down and kissed him, licked into his mouth in stages. I was still hungry, too close to desperate for comfort, but I had to show him how happy I was to be exactly where I was, in this moment.

Of course, there were other ways I could do that. Slow, almost lazy even, I reached out and gripped his hard length, reveled in the unexpected softness of his skin, the heated slide of him against my hand, but most of all the strangled gasp he couldn’t contain.

“All this time and I finally found a way to get your attention.” I grinned at him, and I’m pretty sure it shifted to a smirk pretty fast. 

“You have it, believe me.”

I liked that his voice had dropped lower, and threaded through with gravel. Sexy as all hell, though I would probably say that about pretty much everything about him.

“Good,” I replied as I leaned down and swiped my tongue across his nipple. The taste of his skin ratcheted my want up a whole other level, so I just kept tasting, nipped and sucked where it seemed appropriate. Drenched in heat and clawed with both his need and mine, it took me a minute to pay attention.

I could feel how much he liked what I did, how much he anticipated where this was going, but something new slid up through some cracks. Darker, rougher somehow. He didn’t just want me, he wanted to possess me, own me; every inch of me, even the parts of me I’d forgotten about.

A couple seconds to think about that, and I liked the idea. Already fast, the thought kicked my pulse to a gallop. He had the best ideas.

I slid off his body, stretched back against the sheets in a clear invitation. “I think I’ve explored enough,” I told him. 

We paused, frozen that way, and then Bruce blanketed my body with his own, and we both groaned in pleasure. I writhed against him, drew it out, then waited for the electric pulses in my blood to settle down. Nope. Not happening, but I could live with that.

But it was harder to say than I expected. Even after everything, nerves fluttered my stomach. “I want it too,” I began, and emphasized my words with a thrust that brought our groins together.

Bruce’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips, but he didn’t move. I could see how much he wanted to, but I also still got flashes that told me how conflicted he was.

“It’s okay to take what you need, remember?”

He kissed me then, like he wanted to crawl inside me or devour me, and it didn’t much matter which. That was more like it.

When he urged me to roll over, it took a second to remember how to move. While I did that he reached for lube, then rearranged himself between my legs. His fingers traced over each vertebrae of my spine, made me shiver, though I tried to be still.

I should have known he’d find more ways to drive me out of my mind. I knew how the process worked, I usually topped. So, I thought I knew the importance of proper preparation, but by the time Bruce slid a slicked up finger inside me, I realized I had no idea. He worked me open until I gasped and pushed backwards, then added a second finger which took me from good to great.

The thought of what I must look like, sweat sheened across my skin as I rocked back against his fingers made me flush, but no way could I stop. I was no stranger to wanting, not even close. But wanting the touch of skin against skin, well it just doesn’t compare this. I wanted him inside me so much that I couldn’t think. The sheets were cool against my heated skin, but I couldn’t get any friction against them. Still, I tried, until he put his hand on my lower back and dug in hard enough to get my attention.

“Don’t.” He paused and his hand gentled. “When you come, it’s not going to be thanks to my sheets.

I obeyed, but didn’t stop moving entirely. “Please. Please. Please.” In my head, it became almost one long word, but I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud.

“Patience, Dick.” 

When he said that, he brushed his fingers over my prostate, and the rush of pleasure made me bite back a wail.

Bruce leaned forward so he could speak right into my ear, the heat of his breath rippled down my spine in a shudder. “Don’t hold back. My room is soundproofed. I want to hear you.”

“Gods,” I gasped, lost for words under the tide of pleasure and he wasn’t even in me yet. “You. You...” I trailed off. It was so amazingly good there weren’t words. For once, I didn’t have to worry I would go too far, or want too much.

“I know,” he answered, and of course he did. He always did.

Minutes, or was it hours later, he slid all the way in. 

I caught my breath, best as I could anyways. I could feel his muscles work as he fought not to move, which I appreciated. I knew what I was getting into, or thought I did. But, he was a big guy, and I needed to adjust, even when I felt so good I was pretty sure my brains just leaked out my ears.

Experimentally, I thrust up, just a bit, and that was even better. “Oh yeah. You can move,” I told him. My tone was closer to a command than a request, but he didn’t comment. 

Life isn’t as perfect as the movies make it out to be, so it took a bit of time for us to find a rhythm that worked, but when we did, neither of us cared about control.

Bruce’s grip on my ass held me steady as slammed into me, and I pushed back as hard as I could each time.

He reached beneath me to stroke me in time to his thrusts, and I did wail then, long and loud, but I didn’t care. All my muscles tightened, strained toward a release that promised to be spectacular.

He squeezed the base of my cock, just enough to get my attention. 

“No.” 

I almost didn’t hear him, lost as I was in the spreading tingle that signaled I was close to coming, like it or not.

“Don’t come, not yet,” he instructed, and squeezed harder.

I grit my teeth. Gods how could something that hurt feel so good? “That’s not helping as much as you think,” I managed to gasp. 

But if nothing else, Bruce’s taught me control of my body, so I managed to hold off. 

He kissed me, wet and messy, with too much teeth, but still somehow so good. There was a pause and his breath caught and whispered my name, long and drawn out, and hazed with stunned pleasure. 

When he moved back, I hissed at the withdrawal and moaned in protest. Before I knew it, he turned me to face him, hiked up my legs and slid back in, one deep thrust. Surprise gave way to so much goodness I think I screamed. It felt like I did, but I couldn’t be sure, because all I could hear was the thunder of my pulse in my ears and the small grunts of effort, moans of pleasure that he made each time he thrust into me.

Eventually, his thrusts sped up, and he lost the smooth rhythm. One more deep thrust and I felt him pulse inside me. Bone deep satisfaction. Pleasure. Happiness. Flashes of all of it broke over me as he came. The rush of it made me writhe and shake. It’s one thing to hope you hit all the right buttons, got everything right. Whole different ball game to know it deep down. Total high I knew I was already addicted to and didn’t care.

And the whole time, he looked at me, his eyes wild, and scary intense. Nothing civilized about him right then, not even close, but that was okay. More than okay. I already knew some of his dark places. And I wanted to know more. Someone had to help him beat them back so Bruce could coexist with the Bat. 

His head dipped down then, and he mouthed right where my neck joined my shoulder. When he spoke, the demand painted my skin. “Now. Come, now.” And he bit me, this time almost hard enough to draw blood.

Finally. Fucking, finally. Just like that, I lost it, unraveled completely, too far gone to even worry about whether or not I could be put back together. With my last scrap of clear thought, I did my best to push everything I felt, the perfection of it, at Bruce. If I could make someone cry, it seemed only fair that I could share the good stuff too.

When I came back to myself, my breath heaved in my lungs, perilously close to a sob.

“You’re amazing.” Bruce’s voice in my ear was rough and wrecked, no trace of his usual control, and that felt good.

His fingers traced random patterns in my skin, then slid down my spine. 

I laid there and tried not to melt into the mattress, boneless with contentment. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I managed to tell him. 

Silence stretched then, and I braced myself for regret, or awkwardness. But, when I opened my eyes, and looked up at him, his expression was unguarded, and I saw only curiosity, and what looked a lot like happiness. 

“What?” I asked, after he looked for more long moments, but said nothing.

“Was it intentional?” 

For a second, I thought he meant everything that happened. Then the sharp pain showed up behind my eye, and I clued in. Give a guy a break. I’m not sure my brain had rebooted yet.

A flush heated my skin, and I couldn’t look at him. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Thought I would give sharing something good a shot.” 

This time he kissed me, heat still there but banked, and hand curved around the back of my neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I figured at least this way, you’d believe me.”

***

All things considered, it really didn’t take all that long to usher the last of the party guests out the door. Everyone was perfectly content to believe their own speculations in any case. In my experience, they usually were.

That left only the hired staff to deal with, servers, caterers, the planner, the decorators and a veritable army of assistants. They all left with their pocketbooks considerably happier. The cleaning crew would take longer, but I trusted them, since they were all companies whose services I'd used previously. I only needed to put in an appearance to double check things proceeded as they should.

But I didn't notice Mistress Barbara until she helped gather refuse in the far corner of the ballroom. Still, I left her to it; She often helped tidy after various soirees and events. 

The more I watched her though, the more it became apparent her desire to help on this particular night was due to the fact that something bothered her. She preferred to be busy while she pondered any problem.

Once my duties were dealt with, I made my way to the kitchen and gathered the fixings for proper hot cocoa. 

Only a few minutes later, Barbara slipped through the door and seated herself at the table. Serious then, whatever the problem was, or she would have claimed her usual perch on the counter.

“I prepared your room, if you wish to stay,” I told her, as I set her mug on a coaster in front of her.

“Thanks, Alfred.” She sipped for a few moments, and watched me tidy.

Then, I reached for my own mug and walked over to take a seat himself in my customary place. I said nothing; She needed to come to whatever it was in her own time.

“I saw them, tonight. Before they disappeared, I mean.” Barbara stopped, cleared her throat. 

Ah. That was unfortunate timing, but better that she knew, I supposed. “Yes, well, I believe they had a great deal to discuss,” I explained, as delicately as I could manage.

Barbara nodded, and looked down, but not before I saw tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. 

“You must think I’m impossibly stupid. All this time and I never noticed.”

“Certainly not,” I contradicted. “If it helps my dear, until recently, they didn’t know either. So you can hardly be faulted for your lack of knowledge.” 

She said nothing for a long moment. “Yeah, that helps. Thanks. But, I was half hoping you’d tell me I was wrong. That there was nothing between them.”

“I know,” I acknowledged, careful to keep my tone gentle.

She finished her cocoa and went up to bed shortly after that, still sad, but somewhat comforted that someone understood her unique pain, or such was my hope in any case.

It took only a few minutes to make the usual nightly rounds, and then I headed to my own well deserved rest. After a short debate with himself, I made a slight detour. The door to Master Richard’s bedroom was open, the room beyond it empty and silent.

That was encouraging, but there was one more thing to check. Bruce’s door was shut, which meant he was inside. So much the better. I hated to think my efforts to bring the two of them together were wasted.

***FIN***

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just Hold Me Please(or I'll die)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339654) by [Ash_Cassidy97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97)




End file.
